Secret Veins and Arteries
by Jim in a Crown
Summary: What if Molly was on Jim's side from the beginning? What if pathetic Molly Hooper was all an act? An exploration of Molly/Jim and general dark themes and musings.  Note this is NOT Molly as Sebastian Moran- she's something all to her own.
1. Introductions

Molly Hooper met Jim Moriarty long before she knew Sherlock Homes.

It was also long before she became the Molly Hooper that Sherlock would meet, to be truthful. Hooper was a name Jim had plucked out of thin air for her, as a present. A gift of a silly surname to finish up her character. And all for Sherlock Holmes: Molly knew she should be jealous.

Pathology was just one of the many things Molly could have studied: it felt like indulging a passion, just like some people went to University to study literature or art. It was something to do nonetheless, and Molly could fade into the background while engrossed in a wealds and valleys of muscle tissue, intricate networks of veins, soft subways of arteries and the clandestine gurgle of blood. She loved the textbooks with their polished clean pictures that invited the reader into the secret architecture of the human body. Not doorways to the soul. That was laughable: Jim giggled when she told him what her grandmother had said. What Molly loved about cadavers was the _lack_ of soul, if such a thing existed anyway. She loved the fact that they never responded; just listened with glassy eyes while she found out all about them.

Except for Jim, she had little interest in her university classmates who were odd introverted types, or religious, or just unfathomable, like her maybe. People had odd reasons for wanting to work with the dead, many noble, some far less so. Molly didn't fall into any category and so avoided them all. They usually avoided her anyway once they'd spoken to her: her slight frame and mouse coloured hair were at odds with her sarcastic nasty eyes. Jim's presence with her in the canteen (when he eventually consented to it in her second year) was often enough to put people off too; they had an air of wanting to be left alone.

They'd met near the beginning of Molly's first term. He was little older, a PhD student, sometimes there sometimes not.

Molly asked what the PhD was in.

"Maths."

He drew out the word and rolled his eyes. He was chewing gum. "Just don't ask me for more details, you wouldn't understand it." He was thin and pale, dark eyes and agile eyebrows. He often wore dark clothes, tight black jeans and a suit jacket, pale T-shirts. She'd seen him once on campus in a suit, a real suit, with a silk tie and brogues. He'd looked dangerous and powerful and nothing like the unassuming Jim Molly found out he was generally considered to be. He was never like that to her however; the Jim the others knew was stuttering and polite. Molly didn't mind his biting comments though, because they had an understanding.

"We're both quite fucked up the head really," he told her near Christmas of the first year over a plate of chips they shared in a pub, and beer. His eyes were wide and mockingly sad, "But so long as we're both okay with it, I think it only offers interesting possibilities, don't you?" Molly nodded and fed him a chip. He ate it slowly and smiled at her. "Molly my dear, I need to meet more people like you."

She knew little about his life outside of University. He was Irish, "Dublin or somewhere," he waved away the question. He'd done his bachelors and Masters here at Cambridge too, and, "Ran a little business on the side." He knew a lot about Molly however:

"Your mother killed herself, but I bet you found it quite interesting. If she wasn't very happy anyway, you would reason it was for the best. They didn't let you stay long by the body though did they I bet? How old were you?"

She replied that she was nine.

"I see."

Molly had just smiled at him and after a pause and said that she found it amusing that they both looked quite innocent.

"We look innocent?" He raised an eyebrow sceptically.

Yes, she replied, because she was always the little mousy one at home, at school: the sort of face that was cast as the little sister or the cat in the school play, and never the lead. And Jim was like that too, with soft brown eyes and a charming smile. Unassuming.

"But what am I _really_ then Mols?"

She'd giggled. He wasn't half as soft or as nice, but still charming.

"Of course."

University passed in a blur. They spent a lot of time together. At first Jim pretended not to- his image was one of the everyman; offending no-one and charming anything that moved. Molly had more of a reputation- not as nasty- just as someone that no-one spent time with. When asked though, Molly said Jim was her boyfriend.

The first time Jim heard this he'd nearly broken her arm.

"Don't ever say that again." His voice had been low and like black velvet. His grip on her arm was iron, though his mood flicked back to his usual teasing lilt after the initial flare of anger, "You can't claim some sort of fucked up _ownership_ over me, you know? While I'm here I'm still trying to be normal- no I lie, I'm faking it, being what they all want and they all love, but- I can't be seen to be going out with some creepy little necrophiliac."

Once he'd let go of her, and as she massaged feeling back into her fingertips she'd objected to 'necrophiliac:' she found dead bodies interesting, not attractive.

"Yeah well I turn you on, and I sometimes look half dead."

Half, she'd assured him.

He'd laughed and apologised about her arm.

Life carried on.

Jim would lie on her bed texting for hours on end (having snuck into her block) while Molly studied. Jim would have his feet up resting on the wall in his socks, his back flat on the bed, occasionally telling her amusing things or just humming some tune. She found out that he played the piano _very_ well. He was horrified by her attempts at the cello:

"That's one of the sexiest instruments _ever_- you're meant to _caress _the strings, not try to file them! Gods Mol give that here- I can't listen to it anymore."

Molly still felt that knew him only superficially, though sometimes she wondered if there was all that much else beneath the façade. After the 'boyfriend incident' Jim had made a point of dating other students, mostly men, as though to prove something. Molly didn't really care; in a way it was amusing that he tried to get back at her so much. By the end of her second year he eventually gave up on everyone but Molly, "I've spoken to them all, and they're all useless pathetic little normal people. I fished out any future associates. The rest are no use to me, so they're now victims Mols. Victims or bystanders, that's all."

Their relationship may have been odd, but it suited both of them well. Over dinners in the high ceilinged halls of Cambridge they whispered to each other nasty things about everyone else, and invented crazy things to do to get back at anyone who'd irritated them. They were like children together, malicious and but wide eyed to the others around them. Molly told Jim all about her Father, and how he was a weak and shaky man, a teacher, who lived his life apologetically and didn't understand her. She also told him about her grandmother who tried to love her and scold her and make a pet of her, but in truth was scared of her. He told her little- but listened.

He wouldn't tell her about his business. ("It's far too fun, it'd distract you from your studies.") She didn't even know his real name, as he'd admitted the one he used now he'd invented. "Jim Moriarty doesn't exist you know Mols, if you were to look him up all you'd see if that he'll get a PhD in Maths as well as a handful of other certificates, and after he's got that last gong he'll disappear again and then the fun can start. Will you join me when that happens, Mols?"

She said she would.

"That's good, I'll need someone like you."

Jim usually seemed polite. It was only away from University that Molly really saw his other sides. She only began to visit his flat into her last year. At University Jim was nice to everyone but Molly, to whom he was a little more cutting and (maybe) his true self - though she doubted that he was really. At his flat though, she saw the real him even more. He was still overpoweringly charming, but it was coupled with the ferocious anger of the boyfriend incident. It flared up and dyed away in turn, often spontaneously, so he was cute and giggling one second and threatening to rip out her eyeballs the next.

Molly still didn't mind though, that was just what Jim was like. Just like the dates he'd made a point of parading in front of her, it was quite flattering really. She felt like she was getting to know him. For a start, from his flat she learnt that he was wealthy. It wasn't a student's flat, though it wasn't huge. It was modern though, and beautifully furnished: new wooden floors and fresh white walls, art and bookshelves and rugs.

She'd asked him if he came from a wealthy family, which he found amusing.

"No, I didn't. This is all mine."

So he wasn't even renting it? A mortgage, she queried?

"I could have paid them in cash, though that would have looked like showing off."

Molly could also see more about _him_, from the selection of designer clothes in his bedroom- and by designer she meant properly designer, not just high street- to the books of literature, philosophy, mathematics and various others, eclectic in their coverage on his bookshelves. He also had an awful lot of music.

She also gathered what ever he did, it was probably illegal. She found that amusing.

Molly didn't know what she would define their relationship as. It certainly wasn't boyfriend/girlfriend. They both, Jim far more often than Molly, dated or just slept with other people. Jim was a serial flirt; Molly was more the introvert, though she'd discovered she could act a part.

"Then why the hell do go around like you do if you can act, and get anything you want, as someone else? Have you not noticed what I do?"

Molly said that she wasn't bothered. She could turn on the extrovert in a crowded bar, drink some good looking guy into the ground, and then sneak him back into her room, but she rarely did. (Only… three times?) She doubted that Jim, even with all his maths, could count the number of times he'd done the same thing. Molly wasn't bothered though, and Jim likewise only encouraged her, though the teasing afterwards was awful.

They almost behaved like brother and sister, scheming evil siblings, or a double act, intent on mischief. Almost.

Molly _did_ find him attractive- who wouldn't- with his lazy grins and dark eyes, lithe frame and charm, though what she loved most was his ease with death. It wasn't like hers; hers stemmed from interest, she liked the architecture of the bodies, their secrets and mechanics. Jim's ease with the whole thing was because of his disregard for life as something to be respected.

Before long, Jim finished his PhD, and Molly graduated.

She stayed with him for a month, avoiding his tantrums when she left a towel on the floor, or a book out of place. She slept in a spare room. Jim planned to move back to London. "Got to be at the centre of things. This sleepy city is dull." Molly knew she'd drift after him.

All they really had was each other.

They also had all their lives ahead of them: neither of them had ever heard of Sherlock Holmes. Molly was young, with bobbed brown hair, black clothes and a deathly quiet mind. Jim was quick witty and calculating, not yet the paranoid multi-million pound suited spider toying with people's lives, like Molly would toy with their deaths. Jim had never heard of Sebastian Moran. Molly had never been to London.

Their lives were only just beginning.

It was always going to be interesting.


	2. Stories

It was only on a first impression, but Molly knew she liked London.

She liked the grey sky, the grey buildings, the grey people, the grey pavements. It was every English city in a microcosm, just slightly busier and with a whiff of affluence and multiculturalism that was sometimes missing elsewhere.

As she and Jim walked down the grey pavements past a woman in a grey coat with a grey face, Molly thought about how she loved the fact no-one glanced at them twice. Cambridge had felt cosseted and golden in comparison; sort of bubbly, friendly, soft. London had harder edges.

It was sort of perfect.

Jim's flat was huge, lovely, empty. Jim was the same.

Jim was cold eyed and silent all the way in on the train. He'd changed as they'd left Cambridge- drawn into himself. He looked older, more serious, more frightening. For the first time since she'd graduated Molly wondered why she hadn't ever considered doing anything but following Jim to London. After all, she thought, in truth I don't know all that much about him; nothing that matters.

Molly suddenly felt sleepy, and so slept the rest of the way.

The new flat had everything in it- all Jim's furniture, carpets, lights- but it had nothing to make it feel lived in. There were no functional items on any surface, no books yet on the wide shelves. More pressingly there was no food in any cupboard; it hadn't occurred to Jim to buy anything like that. Molly knew how he sometimes forgot to eat.

In the end Jim bought them a take-way, an Indian from round the corner. Molly's first taste of London was half-warm curry and half-cold beer. They sat the wide new table in the bare white kitchen and ate with plastic forks from the foil containers. There wasn't yet a clock anywhere in the house so Molly had to clue what time it was, though it felt late. It was dark. The kitchen was lit with harsh white lights.

Jim wrinkled his nose and poked a piece of cauliflower with his fork. The plastic bent slightly, but held.

"I want you out by Saturday." His voice was low and ponderous.

"By, Saturday?"

Jim didn't respond but popped the cauliflower in his mouth and chewed slowly.

"I thought I could stay here a little while until I find somewhere of my own." Molly was bemused, but not insulted. Saturday was the day after tomorrow.

"_I've_ found you somewhere. It's not far from here, from me, but it's also not far from that silly job you applied to either. Not that matters. They're going to give it to you, but you're going to turn it down, obviously."

Molly set down her fork, "What makes you think that?" She slowly reached for her beer bottle, and then wrapped her hands around its neck, looking at Jim with her deep set eyes.

He met her gaze with his, brown eyes to brown eyes. "What makes me think _what_ exactly?"

"That I'll turn it down."

"That was meant to be a subtle job offer. I'm clearly just too subtle."

Molly raised her eyebrows, "Well I don't want it. I don't want your job."

There was a moment of silence in which a siren wailed distantly outside.

"You _what_?" Jim's face was all of a sudden screwed up with incredulity. He dropped his fork into his curry so he could use both hands to gesticulate. "You don't want it? You don't even know what I'm offering you. You can't possibly-" he searched the empty air for the word, "-_comprehend_ what I'm offering you." He blinked and tipped his head on one side like a kicked dog. "You're not taking that crappy job; I want you to work for me."

Molly looked away and took her time in taking a drink of beer. "Well I don't want to. I want to work for someone I don't know. I want to do what I've been learning to do for four years."

"I thought you were _interesting_."

"I don't even know what this job is."

"So you reject it like that? Your salary at the-"

"You know I don't care about the mon-"

"Then what the _fuck_ do you care about? Why are you trying so hard to be _normal_ when you could amazing?" Jim slammed his hand down on the table, eyes wide, angry, pale.

Molly swallowed; her mouth was a little dry despite the beer. "I-"

"You, nothing." Jim blinked slowly. "I thought you were… I thought you were-" he shook his head and picked up his fork again and carried on eating as though nothing had happened.

The silence stretched out painfully for a minute or two.

Molly broke it first. "Tell me about the job then?"

"No."

Molly thought. "Tell me about you then."

"No."

"Please!"

"Why? You know about me."

"No I don't." Molly set down her fork, not that she'd eaten anymore. "I may as well take advantage of this, as this is the most normal conversation we've ever had -to say this: I don't know anything about you." Her voice sounded smaller than she'd intended. She usually kept what she said short.

"Well what do you _want_ to know?" Jim hadn't bubbled back into a good mood again like he normally did. His face was stony. Molly wondered if she should just leave it. Talk to him about something else. Anything else. They'd been so close at Cambridge, was that just an illusion? Everything since they'd come to London had felt stilted. Like they were strangers. She felt that she knew her cadavers better. She decided to press on.

"I'd like to know where you came from, family, that kind of stuff. You never would say."

Jim looked up at her slowly, expression inscrutable. A few long seconds past, and Molly wondered if he was about to hit her.

Instead, however, he started to speak, slowly, as though he were recounting a shopping list:

"I'm an only child. I was born in a cramped terraced house with grey pebbledash and damp, in Ireland. I went to school and did the kind of stuff that you do when you go to school in a shitty little town somewhere unheard of with a bunch of idiots. When I was thirteen we moved to England, to the south, me and my parents." He caught her look. "Oh right, _parents,_ I suppose in the great nature vs. nurture argument you'd be for the former, how wonderful. How typical. Well, if you think they matter- my mother was a bit like you. Slight, dangerous, pretty, except she had dark hair like I do, and she wasn't as midgety as you are, offense intended. She played the clarinet since she was small and had studied music, but she stopped after she married, which was the most stupid thing she ever did. Or the two most stupid things. She was also an alcoholic, 'boo hoo' I know, sob story isn't it? My dad was an electrician. Stupid, charming, grumpy. I don't know what she saw in him. I went to a local grammar school, but I made them let me skip a few years. Then, I went to university, studied lots of lovely maths for want of anything better. So where are we now?" He looked unflinchingly at Molly, considering her reaction, and laid his hands down flat on the table. "-Then I met you. I moved to London. I ate curry and disappointed you by being frank when you're used to charming Jim, university Jim, lies and glitter. I moved to London and lost my favourite necrophiliac who chose dead bodies over her one true love."

Jim's lips almost twitched into a smile at the end. Molly didn't know if his story had been a lie or not, but she didn't really mind. She reached out her left hand across the table and laid it on top of his. His hand was cold.

Jim smiled at her, all teeth.

Molly smiled shyly back, "I thought you were going to end it with an orphan twist and get all teary."

"Oh I can if you like!" Jim's eyes lit up, but he slipped his hand out from under hers. "That's SUCH a good idea! Sadly I had it first, so no kudos to you, but at least you thought of it too."

"So it _does_ end like that?"

"No that part happened after I got my first degree." Jim smiled. "It was quite bloody."

A second dripped by, the kitchen silent.

"You did- didn't, mind?" Molly wondered if she'd heard him right. If she'd understood him correctly.

Jim smiled even more widely, as another beat dropped.

"I didn't mind? I _killed_ them Mols," His eyes laughed at her, as though she was stupid for not realising what he was saying. The thought struck Molly that this was a test.

Time yet again felt too slow.

Jim licked his lips and watched her face. "All those last few years, being morbid and malicious together, but never actually doing anything, never acting on it, did you think I was joking?"

Molly looked up into his eyes which seemed very, very deep. This was the answer to his test; so she took a moment to consider. "Yes, maybe -I did. But I hoped you weren't, I think. At least, I don't mind." She blinked and broke eye-contact. "I don't mind at all, you know I don't, and that's what's wrong with me."

She could hear Jim's smile, his pride. Time came back to speed as she heard a bus hiss past outside the window. She'd passed. "No Mols, that's what's right with us. Emotion is a trait of the loosing side, though some emotions are good, like happiness, and fun. I like those. I just find them in odd ways." He chuckled deeply and reached for his beer, taking a deep swig and leaning back in his hair stretching his shoulders back so his T-shirt stretched over his chest. "You really don't want the job?"

"Sorry Jim, I don't at the moment. Maybe later?"

"Fair enough. I_ love_ an independent woman."

"Fuck off."

"I love you too."

The peace in the flat seemed amiable again.

Molly finished her cold curry at a steady pace. Jim left his and sat and watched her eat, and then when she was finished picked up the greasy foil turmeric stained boxes and threw then away into the sterile brand new bin, plastic forks and all. He seemed small in the wide kitchen, but quite real and vital. Molly could see the tendons in his arm move as he took the empty beer bottles, glass clattering, and placed them next to the unused sink, turning on the water and carefully washing his hands. Molly watched his shoulder blades move through his T-shirt.

Jim then leant on the sink as he dried his hands on paper tissues Molly passed to him. They were the only thing they had, and those were 'borrowed' from the take-away. Jim had shown no inclination to unpack yet.

"Where do you want to sleep? Sofa, floor, or with me?" Jim threw a carefully aimed tissue and it plopped straight into the open bin. He tucked his hands in his pockets, eyes glittering.

Molly never knew quite how far he was joking- quite how far it was a tease -or how much he really meant it. In that way. That was the thing about Jim though; he could say the most cringing awkward dirty horrible things (not that this was one of those) and felt no shame. Shame was not in his emotional vocabulary, along with several other things, thought Molly.

"I think I'll be fine with the sofa."

"Though we both know what your _real_ answer would be."

"Of course." She smiled, suddenly tired again, and stood up and wished him good night.

He smiled, lopsidedly, and stayed by the sink as she went to search her bags for a toothbrush and the T-shirt she wore in bed. She noticed that there were already a duvet thrown onto the sofa, an oddly thoughtful act for someone who forgot food, tissues and general household necessities. Not to mention killed his parents.

Molly heard Jim leave the kitchen, and heard the noises in the flat as he washed, and searched for things in the boxes in the corridor. Just as she turned out the light barefoot and shivering in the cold empty room (no curtains yet, the street light cast melting shadows on the boards) his voice sing-songed faintly across the flat, almost hushed, "Night-night Molly Mols."

She leant on the cool door frame, "Goodnight Jim."

There was no reply, so Molly returned to the sofa and curled up into it like a foetus, curled under the duvet as the cars drove past outside. Their lights and the lack of curtains made the shadows slink along the walls in time to their movement, disappearing as they reached the end in a gush of rushing light. Molly found it quite comforting.

She fell asleep quickly, and dreamt of white walls and light, of Jim's brown eyes, and of blood.

She knew she was going to be happy in London.


	3. Experiences

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the positive responses! I'm flattered by how many people have this story on alert- I'd love to know what you think though, so here's a cringe-worthy request for reviews! Criticism is excellent too- I always want to write better. Enjoy. Apologies for any typos, I have no-one to check it.

* * *

><p>Molly had been living in London for four months now. Jim had set her up in a flat- which she paid for of course- and she'd gotten that job very easily. It was a pleasant one too, lots of nice sombre people, a pretty building, cleanliness and peace and quiet. Decent hours, decent pay.<p>

At first Molly saw Jim everyday, which then blended into every few days, then just once a week, and now not for three. His business was 'expanding,' as he put it. Jim now wore suits whenever she saw him; beautifully tailored things that made him handsome, attractive and powerful, though he still had that young raw edge, and that unpredictable air.

For a month he'd even taken up a job at the University College of London, lecturing in maths. He told her afterwards it was just for a laugh, to get to know people, and to get called professor. "Professor Moriarty does have a simply sumptuous ring to it doesn't it Mols?" Needless to say that didn't last long, and he left, leaving behind him a reputation as pristine as his wardrobe, and no hints at what sort of business drew him away from his job in academia. "I just wanted to try a lackey's job, you know? It was kinda dull though. Plus the kids were a bit thick. They just didn't all appreciate the beauty of maths."

"Surely they were studying maths though?"

"That means nothing."

Molly's life was far less glamorous than Jim's, who recent absence from her life only meant that he must be more embroiled than ever in his secret underworld. She missed him- his volatile presence of an evening, their stupid conversations, laughing at the news as they watched the world wrung this way and that with new horrors. She focused instead on appearing normal at work, feigning happy conversations, and an elusive boyfriend that she mentioned to fend off any faint interest from colleagues. She also bought a cat. Jim loved the cat. He would spend hours teasing it with a piece of string, showing an odd consideration and affection that Molly had thought impossible of him previously.

After the conversation in Jim's empty sterile flat after they first arrived in London, Jim seemed to have taken Molly's rejection of his job as a rejection of him personally. They still, of course, spent long hours together, but Jim no longer teased her in the same ways, and there was a noticeable lack of innuendo in his usually laden speech. Molly missed it; she almost felt as though their flirting was something that she'd always relied on to someday develop into that something more, though with Jim that could mean a knife at her throat as much as it could sex.

Now Jim just detailed his days to Molly, avoiding anything concrete like names or particular tasks, but describing people in such hilarious detail that Molly could imagine them as if they were there. She told him tales from her own work, but suspected he didn't really listen, and they played chess which Jim always won. Molly also taught him biology, trying to impart her passion for the secret veins and arteries of man, the nerves, the guts, and the tissues. Jim liked it, found it interesting, but didn't understand the tender care that Molly took in unravelling people. "Just rip it out, and appreciate the mess?"

"I'd definitely be sacked, and that's not the point."

Yet now she hadn't seen him in weeks. Three, and four days to be precise.

Molly let herself in one Thursday evening after work, bending down the pat Toby the cat who wrapped around her ankles. He sniffed at her fingers curiously, but he was growing used to the odd smells Molly carried home. Her flat was small, but comfortable and neat: pale colours, no art on the walls, just some books, a TV, and tidy kitchen bedroom and bathroom. Molly clicked the front door shut and dropped her handbag.

She ate dinner alone, the radio on, and had a long bath before bed. The loneliness didn't bother her in itself; she enjoyed her own company, but she also appreciated Jim when he was there and his prolonged absence was dull, as well as slightly worrying. What if he forgot about her? How could she ever hope to explain herself to another living person?

She climbed into bed at eleven in her small bedroom, and fell asleep quickly.

She didn't sleep long.

Molly was awoken at what must have been near three in the morning by the sound of the front door closing. She almost felt a little panic, an odd and unfamiliar emotion to her, but then her mind jumped to the obvious conclusion: Jim. She heard Toby meow a greeting and then relaxed back into her pillow, watching her bedroom door, not bothering to get up and move in the thick darkness.

After a minute it opened. Molly couldn't see his face, it was too dark, but Jim's silhouette was as familiar as her own was. He padded into the room, and paused in the middle of the carpet. She guessed he couldn't see much either. "Mols?"

"Yes?"

"Mind if I turn the light on?"

His voice sounded slightly drunk, if only in a low happy soft edged way. It sing-songed his words.

"It's okay."

Molly squeezed her eyes shut as the overhead lamp clicked on, and it took her a minute or so of blinking before she could take in Jim's appearance. She wriggled up in bed slightly to look at him.

He was wearing his suit trousers, black, narrow, dark socks (he'd taken his shoes off, how considerate) but he had no jacket despite the fact it was November, and was kneeling by her chest of drawers in only his shirt. The shirt was bloodstained. Deep velvet red up both arms, and smudges on the front as though he'd pressed himself to one of her dissections. Jim looked around at her and smiled, white teeth.

"Mind if I borrow a T-shirt? I know you have some of your dad's old ones in here. I don't think a low plunge ladies top would really suit me."

"Why are you here?"

Jim paused as he rocked on his heels, before flopping down into a cross legged seat on the carpet, facing her. He made a screwed up face, "Well, things got a little… _messy._"

"What's-"

"I'm paranoid my flat's being watched," he admitted, scratching his nose, and then rubbing at a mark of dried blood on his cheek. "I sort of forgot to branch out in the property market, and," he sucked his cheek, "I'm still learning Mols. Still lots to do."

"Okay. T-shirts are in the bottom."

"I know."

Jim slid onto his knees and turned away to root around in Molly's drawer, pulling out a large navy T-shirt, cotton and thin: one of her Dad's old ones that she kept to wear in bed. He stood up gracefully, undoing his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it off into a scrunched up pile of red and white on the floor. Molly wondered at how thin he'd gotten. His stomach, usually softer was too taut, and she could see his ribs more than normal.

"Do you ever eat any more?" Her voice was muffled by the covers.

Jim just huffed in response, and turned away to awkwardly pull on the T-shirt over his head, his thin white arms emerging from the dark material above his head seeming very childish and self conscious. He tugged it over his head, and then pushed a piece of hair off his forehead, turning back to her.

Molly closed her eyes and pulled up the duvet again, rolling onto her side so she faced away from the room and from Jim. She heard Jim kick the drawer shut, and after Jim had walked to the door again saw and hear the clicking off of the light switch. He then shut her bedroom door, but didn't leave, stayed inside. She heard noises, though she wasn't sure of the sounds with her eyes shut and the duvet over one ear.

A few seconds later she felt the mattress tip and he climbed onto her bed.

"Budge over, it's cold."

"Go home."

"Can't. Move!"

Obligingly she wriggled closer to the wall. Whatever her protestations it was nice to hear his voice again, even if it was at three in the morning and he'd turned up covered in blood.

He let in a waft of cold air as he climbed under the duvet. The bed was luckily winder than a single, but not quite a double. It was some off German brand that made it hard to find sheets for, but Molly was glad of the room just then.

Even so, Jim managed to kick her several times with freezing feet and legs and nudge with her cold arms and angles before he was under the covers too. Molly noticed that he must have taken his trousers off. An old T-shirt and just his boxers then. It was a funny image: Jim was always so immaculate.

There was a brief tiff over the duvet which Jim won- pulling it off Molly's front so she wrapped her arms over her and complained, "I'm cold now. You could have slept on the sofa!"

"Shut up Molly Mols," Jim's voice was amiable though. "Here- just look-"

She felt him move and the mattress rocked again, but he pushed her shoulder away when she tried to roll over the face him, "Just stay there."

Molly lay back down obediently still, and felt him wriggle closer and his chest press into her back, nudging his knees under hers so she sat on his lap, and letting his hand rest in the dip of her waist so they lay together- slotted in like stacked spoons. Jim adjusted the duvet to cover them both, and then slid his arms back under the covers and his hand back to her waist.

"See? Fine."

"You're freezing."

"You'll soon warm me up."

Molly could feel Jim's cool breath tickling her neck. She sighed and relaxed into him, curving her back into his chest and stomach and letting his cool seep into her, and her warmth into him. He slid his arm down over her stomach and tucked it underneath her, hugging her to him.

The darkness was thick again, so Molly closed her eyes as they both warmed up. She heard Jim's breathing grow slower, steadier. She wondered what had happened with all the blood. More as to why it went wrong than to why the blood was necessary in the first place. Jim never made mistakes.

Molly smiled to herself quietly. She rather liked this Jim: the mistake making, blood covered old T-shirt wearing Jim. He seemed a little more human and a little more vulnerable. Furthermore his arm was curled around her waist.

If he was still there in the morning, Molly decided, she'd make him pancakes.

Of course he wasn't.


	4. Meetings

Molly could tell Sebastian Moran was going to be someone important in Jim's life from the way he described him; with relish, with pride, with admiration. That last emotion was new one in Jim's arsenal- admiration implied respect, something Molly hadn't ever been sure Jim was capable of. When she herself saw Moran, she understood a little better Jim's fascination.

He was beautiful. He was perfectly proportioned, healthy and graceful. Molly thought about how beautifully his muscles could be peeled away, how his secret parts and organs and liquids could be aired and admired. She thought about how he would be a model dissection to show a class back at University to say 'here's the only proof we've ever found for creation theory.' He wasn't pretty though, oh no. He had a harsh face. A face made up of cheek-bones and muscles and textures; shadows and stubble and tiny scars. It was an essential face, bare and brutal.

Physically he was fit, with delicate muscles in abundance that moved without a thought as he did. Molly's first impression had led her to say that he moved like an athlete or a dancer. Jim described his balanced gait as that of a hunting tiger. Molly rather liked that description; he had the bodiless fluidity of someone who had forgotten they owned awkward bones, limbs and angles. Molly was a little jealous too; as he was everything physically she was not. Later, Molly was also so angry when she found at that he smoked; he might ruin his perfection.

He had light hair, sandy, bleaching to a more childish blond in the sun. His eyes reminded her of her own and Jim's, the only thing she mirrored saw in all of them: they were deep and empty. Sebastian's bright blue however, though hers and Jim's were shades of brown. He had large hands, and a gravelly voice, though a quiet one. He was well very spoken and taciturn. Private school, she noted mentally.

She felt small and silly near him, in her dark clothes and with her stark ponytail she'd taken to wearing as her hair grew longer. She didn't speak to him when they were introduced, just nodded 'hello' as Jim bounced around the room, fawning on Sebastian, his eyes glittering as he laughed and planned things, mad things. By now Molly was also privy to as many of his plans as anybody was, though as Jim was a compulsive liar and an oddly private person who shared little, she knew only of them in abstract. Not enough to give anything away, even under torture. She thought Jim would think of it in those terms too.

Sebastian's eyes met hers as though to ask, 'is he always like this?'

Molly decided not to respond, and instead her let her eyes flick back to Jim. It was also true that she felt a certain _Shadenfreude_ in the fact this quiet killer Sebastian would eventually meet the most terrifying thing he would ever encounter: Jim insane anger. He had no idea what he was in for. Molly wondered if this was jealously she was experiencing. Until now the only thing she'd fought Jim for was his own work, at that was as precious to him as anything physical, much more so. However Molly couldn't help but notice the greed in Jim's eyes when they roved over Sebastian.

She left them alone in Jim's sitting room under the pretence of getting a drink, and paused in the corridor by Jim's long mirror. A small woman who was slight, mousey, and with a pointy face and deep set eyes, not ugly, not pretty looked back. Small and insubstantial, the antithesis of Sebastian's cool vitality, his physicality. A phrase came back to Molly in bits from a book she'd been made to read at school, "It was a body capable of enormous leverage - a cruel body." F Scott Fitzgerald. The name followed the quote grudgingly as it had been taught to.

Molly stared at herself unflinchingly for a few seconds, and then walked into Jim's kitchen. She could hear the murmur of Jim's voice across the corridor but she didn't listen. The kitchen was as uncompromisingly tidy as ever, and she found a bottle of wine easily which she opened, and poured herself a glass, pulling up a chair and sitting alone at the table. Molly thought about how she'd never had to lie to Jim before, or pretend anything. He used to be like her twin before this recent evolution into something altogether more great, and they'd need never pretend at anything, be that an emotion or an impulse. Of course he lied to her always, but that was not what she meant.

Molly took a long drink of her wine, swallowing it wincingly, and setting the glass on the table a little too firmly. One silly Sebastian meant nothing to her; he would be like the others, in and out in a flash. Only Molly stayed, Molly and Jim. Of course what also crossed her mind was that Jim had never introduced her to any of his other 'colleagues'- ah well. Molly couldn't be bothered with all the calculations, emotions, thoughts. She was a brutally practical person. This was simply a new stage in Jim's life. A growing criminal… 'business' needed a reliable hit man. It just so happened he was beautiful.

Molly started when Jim's hand touched her shoulder and the wine in her glass tipped a little. He leant past her, his body leaning into hers as he took the glass from her hand and set it on the table. "Poor Mols- so deep in thought. Did I scare ya'?"

She didn't reply, so he leant down and hugged her round the shoulders, pushing his face into her ear. He smelt of a new expensive cologne and of himself, a faint unidentifiable smell that she'd never been able to place. He whispered low, "He's gorgeous isn't he? Can't wait to see him kill something." He kissed the back of her jawbone with soft lips, then stood up and moved away. Molly wondered if the flirting Jim was back- what a stupid point for him to resurface if so.

Molly sighed through her nose.

Jim -of course- noticed.

Opening a cupboard, he spun round, "Whaaaaat?" He moaned, tipping his head over. "Don't you like him? I know you do, I saw you looking, he's so pretty." He blinked at her pathetically.

Molly smiled faintly, "Why did you introduce him to me? I've never met anyone else."

Jim looked sideways, still hanging off the open cupboard, considering. He twisted his mouth, "He seems more like us."

"Like us?"

"Like," Jim sighed, picking his words, "except for the obvious eye-candy, he can kill stuff and not think about it." Jim frowned, almost mockingly, but Molly was familiar with his overly expressive features. He plodded through his next sentence as though troubled by it, "He can kill stuff and not find it fun necessarily, but find it interesting? He can kill stuff just for the sake of it." Jim nodded, "Yes, that's it, yes. He can kill stuff for the hell of it. Just _because_. Like," he snapped his fingers, "that."

Molly nodded. "He's good at it too."

"That goes without saying. Have you seen that body? Excellent with a gun too, excellent. I wouldn't trust him at all… except that I'm going to." Jim giggled with glee and pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, dumping it on the counter. He followed with glasses, three, even though Molly protested she didn't want anything.

Sebastian appeared at the door just after Jim finished pouring the last tumbler. He spun across the kitchen into Sebastian, pressing the glass into his hands, then flung himself down on a chair next to Molly pushing her tumbler in front of her and pushing her wine glass away. "Sit!" Jim motioned with his head to the other chair the other side of Molly, opposite Jim.

Sebastian sat, setting down his cup after taking a long drink, leaving just a thin line of brown liquid at the bottom. Molly sipped hers. She hated whiskey. Stupid, strong and pointless drink. You could only drink an inch or two of it, and it tasted vile. Jim looked from one of them to the other as though someone should say something, something should happen.

Sebastian again glanced in her direction, and she accidentally met his hard blue eyes. She looked away again.

Jim tipped his chair back and rolled his head back and round, "Gods you people are _dull_."

"Well sorry your tea party didn't go as you planned." Molly hated her light airy voice sometimes. Jim and Sebastian had lovely low speech.

Sebastian seemed surprised at Molly's sarcasm. Jim noticed it too, he smirked. "Don't get ideas, she's the only person who can be rude to me."

"Ah."

Molly wished Sebastian gone.

Just then Jim's phone went off. It was ABBA, 'Dancing Queen' and Molly saw a smirk almost tug at Sebastian's lips. Jim scowled. "Excuse me ladies." He pushed his chair back and stood up, pressing the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He made a face at them both then sauntered out into the hallway, pulling the kitchen door shut behind him.

Molly and Sebastian were left alone.

Sebastian decided to attempt conversation first. Bravely, thought Molly.

"Do you work for him too?" His eyes were so blue.

"No."

Molly wanted to laugh at Sebastian's surprise, yet again that afternoon, "I'm an old… acquaintance."

"Oh I didn't think. he'd- are you his-"

"No. Don't worry."

Sebastian's eyes were amused, "I-"

"Don't bother."

Molly pushed her chair back and stood up, raised her tumbler as if to drain it, and then remembered it was whisky. "Do you want it?"

Sebastian nodded and Molly slid it across the table to him.

There was an amicable silence as Sebastian drained it, and Molly could make out faint strains of Jim's conversation through the door as she paused, standing by the table. Maybe Sebastian wasn't so bad.

"Do you know what he's hired me for?"

Molly nodded, "Yes."

Sebastian watched her face, curious to see her response. All he received was a lack of emotion, even interest. He nodded slightly, eyes respectful.

Molly moved aside and pushed her chair back in. After a seconds hesitation she held out a hand, "I'm going, nice to meet you."

Sebastian cautiously shook it, "Likewise."

Molly left him alone in the kitchen, and on her way out passed the open door to Jim's living room, Jim perched on the edge of the sofa still on the phone. He looked up and bless her a kiss briefly, then his concentration flicked back to his conversation, "No, don't do that, that's _idiotic._ Listen to me you dumb-ass and-"

Molly didn't bother to listen to any more, and let herself out.

She'd had enough of people, live ones, for one day.


	5. Performances

Jim often let himself into Molly's flat, even though she'd never given him the keys. She suspected that the very low rent she paid was something to do with him too, but she never asked. Some people might have felt insulted by the favours Jim casually tossed at her, but Molly didn't care. It was his choice, and she benefited from it. She didn't feel indebted to him in any way and she knew he didn't want her to. That wasn't the point of it.

As well as the rent, she also liked the bodies.

They started with a text late one night, maybe a year or so after the 'meeting Sebastian' incident:

_Make it up to you with a prezzie- it'll arrive tomorrow. -Jim xx_

What he was making up to her she couldn't recall. Whatever the reason, the present was, however, wonderful:

A young woman. An interesting death, not obvious, a puzzle, a riddle. Jim left clues. The width and spacing of the bruise marks on her upper arm (the size of Sebastian's hand). The neat scratches, thin, not deep on her left hand (like a grid for noughts and crosses). It was a game, searching, guessing, testing.

It took her two days. Lab tests took time. When Molly worked out how they'd done it, she texted Jim back and asked him if she he wanted her to cover it up, to lie. (Mysterious poisonings get interest, she thought.) Jim's response was quick and irritable:

_No. I'll just have to try harder next time so you can't figure it out. -Jim x_

Molly smiled to herself and set to clearing up the lab, nodding and looking vaguely worried in response to her colleagues shocked chatter about the odd death. She left work only half an hour late, and bought some wine on the way home.

Jim was already there, lying on her sofa, still as stone except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Molly thought it'd be prettier if he wasn't breathing, but that had other implications. As she quietly walked past him quietly in her tights he didn't move -if he _was_ actually asleep, anyway.

In her small neat kitchen Molly opened a bottle of the wine, and put some pasta on, moving contentedly, silence permeating the flat except for the gentle hiss of steam from the pan, and the sounds of the crockery- the gritty chink of plates and the harsher stinging noise of the cutlery.

She set two places even though she didn't imagine Jim would eat much. He never seemed to, though he wasn't as thin as he used to be any more. Now he was just slender. He looked older, more mature, but healthier: successful crime obviously gave him a healthy glow. Molly herself had changed little over the last year. She worked at the same place, followed the same mundane rituals or early mornings and commuting and work and going to the shops and cooking, bath, bed. She'd let her hair grow out from it's harsh bob so it hung in mousy waves just brushing her shoulders. She still wore a lot of black like in her student days; black mascara her only real vanity.

Molly drained the pasta, blinking in the rolling waves of hot steam, and put it back into the saucepan with a lid on to keep warm while she went to get Jim. He was texting, still lying down, the phone held up in front of his face his arms straight up in the air. He'd left his shoes by the door and his socked feet were crossed over the sofa arm. His head rested on the other arm.

He was just wearing his pale grey shirt and black tie, black narrow suit trousers, and deep red socks, like wine. Just the material of the clothes told Molly that the shirt probably cost more than her entire outfit. It suited him though, but Molly couldn't tell if 'it' was smug satisfaction, money, or fine tailoring.

Molly perched by his feet and waited for him to send the text. He typed deftly, then lowered the phone, and dropped it to one side onto the carpet casually. It hit the floor with a thump.

"Dinner?" His voice was low and amiable, and he nudged her off the arm of the sofa with his feet, so he could swing his legs down and get up.

They ate in the kitchen at Molly's battered light wooden table. Molly didn't mention the present, and let Jim set the conversation, moaning about a stupid client, about a film he saw that was utterly ridiculous, about a book he'd read by a fellow maths graduate that was the biggest load of nonsense imaginable.

They could almost have been a normal couple.

Molly was a messy person by nature. Entropy, she insisted to Jim's frustrated sighs about the state of her flat. He told her she was misusing the word and actually it didn't apply to socks, or dirty dishes but was a scientific principle. Today though, he let her leave their plates stacked haphazardly on the table.

They went into the living room.

Molly decided that she had to say something about the woman.

"Thank you for making work more interesting."

Jim was poking at her bookcase in distain. He sighed and crossed to the sofa, sitting down in a flop on the seat. "Sorry I couldn't get you a handsome young man; it was an idea I had at short notice."

Molly smile slightly. She was standing at the end of the sofa and absent mindedly she curled a piece of her hair round a finger. "I've got you instead."

Jim looked at her and raised his eyebrows, but patted the seat next to him, flopping back into the well used cushions as though it were his home. He reached for the TV controller as Molly sat down next to him, the sofa cushions tipping in at the middle with their combined weight. Molly leant into him and he put an arm round her.

Jim flicked channels with his other hand.

"Just don't go dissecting me right now, I think, because you won't find much of a heart."

Molly looked at him quizzically even though he wasn't looking at her face, but at the TV screen which cast flickering shadows over his features. "That's a very un-you like thing to say."

Jim made a 'that was obvious' face, and sucked in air through his teeth. He shifted his seat a little and turned to face her so their faces were very close.

"It's only an un-me like thing to say if you think that I meant it was _bad_ thing. And obviously, anatomically I do have one." He smiled, and it was wide and full of long teeth with lazy eyes. Molly didn't move. Jim leant forwards and kissed her nose.

Molly felt like saying how un-Jim like that was too, but she didn't. He turned back to the TV and leant back into the seats. There was a pause. The news started and Jim watched without interest, and turned the sound down low.

He wrinkled his nose.

"Oh look at us Molly-Mols, playing happy families, playing _normal_."

"And?"

"It's such a stupid waste of life."

"Why are you doing it then?"

"I'm just testing the water, don't be- oh gods don't get sentimental or I'll have to- just- that's a stupid thing to say. We're not just _people_. " He spat out the word with distain, and took his arm away, crossing his ankles again and moved his shoulder irritably where Molly leant into him. She shifted her pressure off a little.

Molly thought about speaking, but there wasn't much to say.

"You know, I was kind of pissed off that you figured it out so quickly. Half admiration, half annoyance. Was it me being too obvious, or was it Sebastian? I bet it was Sebastian."

"Or I could just be very good."

"Or that. I think it was Sebastian. It was the arm wasn't it? I told him to be gentle, but no, leave a massive bruise right there so you can see that we had to hold her, and then…"

"That did help."

"Sebastian. Stupid boy."

Molly tilted her head to catch Jim's expression, it was half smile which went as quickly as it came. Jim rolled his eyes, "I'll just have to tell him off later."

Molly made a faint noise of assent, "Hm," and Jim looked at her with a flashing smile, very bright in the gloom of the room and the TV. "Jealous?"

"You always ask."

"You never answer."

"You don't generally go for answers though do you?"

Jim chuckled in the dark, leaning back into the cushions again. "I'm not a serial rapist you know."

Molly laughed, an odd sound, "I didn't quite mean that. I meant about reading people."

Jim smiled lazily, "I know."

"Oh you're just being irritating." Molly shoved his shoulder, "Can I get you more wine?"

"Trying to get me drunk now are we?"

Molly stood up and kicked his legs with her socked toe, "Wine or not?"

"M'kay."

When she came back with two glasses Jim was texting again, he accepted his glass without looking at her. Molly perched on the sofa arm so as not to rock him. A few taps, sent.

Jim looked at her and she couldn't read his eyes in the dark, twisting to face him though she sat facing out from the sofa. Molly thought that should turn a light on but the harsh yellow and blinking seemed very unappealing. She put her wine down on the floor.

"Was the lady a one-off, or are you going to send any more my way?"

"As many as you desire my princess." Jim faked a posh English accent rather convincingly. Molly thought his expression was irritated though, in the gloom. He took a drink of wine then also set the glass down on the floor by his phone.

There was a dark pause that filled the room like a question.

Molly sighed, "I'm sorry I'm being mundane today. But _why_ do you keep- _acting_? I know you can act, and- you hate normal."

Molly always said things that shouldn't be said, but this was Jim, this was what he was there for.

There was pause again as Jim twisted his jaw sideways, and then slowly a smile crawled up and onto his face. (At least Molly thought so; it was hard to see his features.)

"I'm an actor darling, it's my job." He drew his vowels out long and ugly, still in that English accent. She could see his teeth, white in the dark, "You know me..."

Jim stood up with a crunch of sofa cushion and slowly walked round face Molly who was still on her sofa arm. She turned back to face him too. Standing directly in front of her his legs touched hers, and he reached out a hand to touch the line of her jaw, gently, with fingertips.

"Just don't _you_ turn into someone normal, like this too, okay? I tried to make it up with the body; and I know you need my guiding light, and I've been busy with little Seb and work, but really." He paused, "You can still work for me whenever you like, you know."

Molly closed her eyes, tiredly. "I know."

She felt Jim's finger ghost across her eyelid.

All of a sudden Jim grabbed Molly by the waist and stepped forwards to press to her, his legs sliding between hers. Her forehead pressed into his chest as his fingers curled into the soft flesh of her waist through her T-shirt. He stood stock still as Molly relaxed and let her hands rest gently on his hips. They stayed like that for a few long seconds, his breath tickling her hair against her forehead, as he leant down over her, their bodies close, his mouth over the crown of her head.

His proximity was warm, his shirt beneath her fingers was silky.

"So do you want me to stay here tonight, or?" Jim's voice was very low, velvet. The TV hissed faintly about horrors in the background.

Molly tilted up her face to his and found his mouth, and kissed him gently. His lips were cool and not as soft as she'd imagined. He tasted of wine and smelt of Jim. She had to stretch up to reach from her lower position on the arm of the sofa. Jim half returned the kiss but Molly pulled back.

"No. Go back to your Sebastian."

Jim leant back from her in surprise and snorted in annoyance and amusement. He leant his head back to sneer in derision to the room, looking down at her seriously. "You _are_ ordinary." He shook his head, "For one, that's none of your fucking business, two, you surely don't believe we're dating like- like that do you? Three, I don't think that you or I are the kinds of creature to go in for loyalty or some other artificial concept, and four if it even matters we're _not_ fucking, yet." His fingers dug into her waist, slightly painfully.

"No."

"Not yet." Jim smiled, then it clouded and he shook his head raising his eyes to the ceiling. "So I attempt everyday romance, like normal people, and you don't even go in for _that_." Jim let go of her and stepped backwards, brushing creases of his shirt. "I'll just keep sending you dead bodies then."

Molly sighed, smiled gently, "Okay."

Jim's face suddenly switched back to normal as he leant past her and turned the light on. It flickered into life with a blinding artificial yellow as the bulb warmed up. His face switched with it, back to happy cheery Jim. He twisted his mouth and looked about the room.

"Well, I'd best be off them."

Molly nodded as he crossed the carpet to pick up his phone and tucked it into his trouser pocket, and drained the rest of his wine.

"See you then." Jim walked back and leant in to kiss her cheek, then dead eyed wandered out of the room to get his things. In an age old habit Molly didn't follow, just listened as he put his shoes and jacket on, then let himself out.

The door slammed gently.

The flat was quiet again.

Molly stood up to turn the TV off but accidentally kicked over the wine glass by her feet, not catching it in time as the red liquid drooled out in a rush onto her light carpet. On reflex she nearly ran to get a cloth, but instead froze and just watched it as the liquid sank slowly down into the pile. She squatted next to it and pressed her fingers into the soft fabric so the wine welled up around them.

Oh well, stains tell you you've lived.

She righted the now empty glass and crossed to turn the TV off, then back to turn the light off, then the one in the kitchen.

Lights, one by one, and then in the dark flat she went to bed.

Molly wondered if Jim would send her body another as early as tomorrow.


	6. Pauses

Pauses

_Sorry about yesterday, just, stop being so odd OK? –Molly 08:09_

_Had five days of pretending to be other people, don't blame your Jimmy. –Jim xx 08:11_

_Right. –Molly 08:12_

_Honest (you know me I can't lie.) Look out for post, I'll make it up to you again. –Jim xx 08:18_

_In the POST?- Molly 08:21_

_;) –Jim xx 08:23_

No bodies arrived at work that day, and there was nothing from Jim at home, either.

After that, Molly couldn't get in contact with Jim for six weeks. This happened fairly regularly, but six weeks was rather longer than normal. Molly remembered his late night bloodstained appearance those years ago after an absence of contact. It seemed a long while back.

Meanwhile, Molly continued her daily routine with a resigned monotony; no more bodies as presents, no emails, no communication at all. Her texts began to bounce after the third week: 'Message not sent,' so she didn't text again. Jim had always been the kind of person to get in touch with you anyway, and not the other way round.

After three weeks of isolated silence Molly even tried dating someone to liven up dull weekends. She wondered somewhere in the back of her mind if that would trigger Jim's return into her life. It didn't. The other man was fine, average height, average good looks, brown hair, good teeth and just a little older than her, but Molly wasn't like Jim. The constant act of normal, lively, and interested became a drag so she broke it off with vague but plausible excuses. Toby the cat missed him. The only thing Molly missed was the sex.

It was a six weeks to the day since Jim's disappearance when Sebastian arrived at her work.

Molly was called down from upstairs as there's 'some bloke with a parcel that's, like, specifically for you.' Bloke was such a funny word to describe Sebastian with. He was round the back entrance to the lab in a uniform with a parcel, looking ridiculous in the delivery company jacket. It reminded Molly of those strippers you can hire for people's parties to embarrass them. She mentally scolded herself but couldn't help greeting him with a smile, though of course she pretended not to know him.

Sebastian's mouth almost twitched into a smile too, while at the same time looking incredibly irritated. Molly couldn't tell which half of the expression was real, and which half was acted. He thrust a small parcel at her, "I presume you're her."

"Yes." Molly smiled sweetly. "Do I need to sign for it then?"

They went through the charade, in case anyone saw them, Sebastian leaning casually on the metal door frame. Behind him was the ally and the bins. The corridor they were standing in was brightly lit but scruffy; for deliveries.

Molly pocketed the parcel in her long white lab coat's pocket and Sebastian turned to go.

Molly suddenly thought and stepped forwards, catching his jacket with her fingertips, "Wait a second- do you want to have lunch?"

At that moment she heard the footsteps behind her of a colleague- the dull click of heeled shoes -so Sebastian smiled especially dully, fakely, "Sure. Where?"

"The Café opposite? Percie's? At One?"

Sebastian smiled, nodded, left.

Molly turned round to find Linda watching her with a sardonic smile. She was maybe fifty, with thick mousey greying hair cut short and thick framed glasses. "That was very forward."

Molly smiled coyly, "Well," she gestured upstairs to the morgue, "life is short, and he was hot."

Linda seemed a little surprise and raised an eyebrow, but it was underlined with a smile that was almost with admiration. Molly smiled back, faking embarrassment quite well, awkwardly grinned as she took leave from Linda, "Sorry I'd best get-"

"Oh of course-"

Molly even thought she heard a murmur, 'he _was_ rather' as she went.

In the stairwell and out of sight, Molly paused as she heard Linda's footsteps retreat down the corridor away from her. Molly smiled, and was for a moment proud of Linda's admiration and jealously, but then remembered that actually she only wanted to ask Sebastian what happened to Jim. Because of Linda's presence she couldn't elicit a promise from him, and Sebastian might not turn up.

Irritating.

Molly turned to go back upstairs, but the parcel in her pocket bumped against her leg as she climbed another few steps, so checking she was still alone, she stopped and took it out. It was reasonably light. Molly wondered what kind of thing Jim would send her, if it wasn't a body.

The package was marked with a fake postal stamp and the address, brown paper, very neatly wrapped. It took a few seconds of intent picking with a fingernail to get under the tape. Inside was a phone, black, shiny, thin and touch screen. Molly had never had a touch screen phone before. She didn't know anyone who did, well, Jim must do by now. He did love computers and gadgets.

She located a button top and pressed it on, the screen flashing to life in blacks greens and blues. Molly leant against the stair rail and waited for it to load, slipping the paper wrappings back in her pocket. It look her some cautious tapping to out how to navigate the welcome screen and find out how to stop the 'message' icon from flashing at her. It was a text, that she opened. The contact was labelled unhelpfully, 'me,' thought of course she didn't need a name, but she might want to save her own number on there at some point in the future. The text read:

_Don't text me trivialities, but ring this number if anything weird happens. Stick to your old phone till I see you. Xx_

From Jim. Two 'x's, as always.

There would be plenty of questions to ask Sebastian at lunch. Molly pocketed the phone and ran up the stairs, knowing her colleagues would be full of questions about the package. Molly knew that the best lies however, are based on the truth. Friend, present, apology.

0o0

Sebastian was folded up in the tinny cheap metal chair outside the café, on the street. His longs legs were bent awkwardly under the dull metal slats of the seat, and his shoulders were hunched, his whole posture radiating irritation and boredom. He had a cup of tea in front of him, which Molly found quite funny. He looked like he should be drinking black coffee, as if all beverages should reflect their drinker like in story books.

Molly sat down opposite him. Her knee tapped the shiny table which set it wobbling and Sebastian's tea tipping precariously close to spillage, as the table legs or the pavement were unequal or uneven.

"Woops, sorry."

Molly dropped her handbag by her feet, and ordered a latte and a panini from the bored bleach blonde waitress who had been hovering since she saw a customer approach. Once the café door shut again and they were left alone with the rush of lunchtime traffic and passing pedestrians, Molly looked up at Sebastian.

"Sorry about the lunch thing, but I don't know how to contact you otherwise and Jim said not to text him-"

"-Unless it's vitally important-"

"-Exactly."

Molly sighed and waited for a man with a briefcase to pass their table.

"So where is he?"

"I don't know." Sebastian's face relaxed a little and he reached out to grab his tea to stop it from spilling as Molly rested her forearms on the table which wobbled again. He curled his large hands around the cheap white mug. "He doesn't tell me where, it's safer."

"How about _why_ then?"

Sebastian looked up at her considering. "I thought he'd tell you, but maybe not." He raised his eyebrows with a 'well it _is _Jim' expression, then took a long drink of his tea.

Molly waited.

Sebastian sighed and rolled his eyes a little, "He sort, lost all of his money."

Her surprise was genuine, "How on earth did he do that?"

"He made a mistake, he was showing off, it's a long and very, very complex story, I get pretty bloody confused too." Sebastian drank more tea. "Basically, he doesn't actually care about the money, he actually thought it was funny at the time although he was a bit-" Sebastian frowned and carried on, "Anyway, he didn't care but he needed to get away from stuff, people, who were," a couple passed close to their table and he froze in mid-sentence then carried on once they were out of earshot, "out to get him. He's fine though."

Molly laughed gently in disbelief, though she really, truly did believe Sebastian. "I guess he's abroad?"

Sebastian shrugged affectedly then finished his tea. The cup made a horrible click on the tin table. At that moment the waitress came back with Molly's food.

The latte looked like milk and the panini was a little dark, but it has been very quick. They both waited till the woman left again and Molly poked at it.

"I didn't realise you literally meant lunch." Sebastian had leant back in his chair which gave a faint metal creak.

"Well this is actually my lunch break, so yes, lunch isn't always code for secret chat," Molly smiled sardonically, then picked up her knife and fort and cut a piece of her panini off with a wobble of the table.

Sebastian watched her eat for a minute, before she looked up at him. Molly suddenly noticed how tired he looked. Not physically tired, but there was resignation in his eyes that she didn't think she'd seen before.

"Are, um, you okay?"

"Fine."

Molly picked up her latte and took a sip, eyes on Sebastian, "What have you done since he left?"

"This and that. Made sure that he can come back, if you know what I mean."

Molly nodded. The latte was foul.

It suddenly occurred to her that Sebastian might be short on money, what with Jim's absence. After-all, Sebastian didn't have a 'normal' job to tide him by like Molly did.

"Has Jim, you know, paid you recently?"

Sebastian's stony features cracked into a smile that made him really quite stunning, "Oh don't worry about that, I got last months wage and to be honest I could live off it for at least six months."

Molly smiled a little awkwardly, "Oh, good. I just thought-"

"I understand."

Molly nodded, paused, then was about to speak but found her words over lapping with Sebastian's:

"I wonder-"

"I think I'd-"

Molly stopped and gestured to Sebastian to continue.

"I'd better be going."

Molly set down her cutlery as a wave of tourists' French washed over them from a group passing their table. She smiled to Sebastian, "Okay, thanks for coming."

Sebastian awkwardly climbed out of his chair, stretching his shoulders back as he stood up. The sun was high and it was difficult to see his expression from where Molly was seated. She squinted up at him. He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded curtly to her, before turning round and walking down the street away from her, a tall figure with a long stride and a dark jacket.

Molly alone ate the rest of the panini and left the coffee, taking her time, watching the life on the street go past. She even took out the new phone and checked it a few times, but there were no new messages and she didn't want to text him, Jim. It was hard to read the screen in the light anyway.

It was sunny again, and dull. Dull, hazy and polluted weather that encouraged pedestrians to bare their winter white arms and squint enthralled as though they'd never seen the sun before. Molly put her phone away and watched the street, her mind half turning over false stories for her colleagues from her lunch date with the delivery man.

She was sure she would see Jim soon, and that made every lie and tedious day to day okay. Also, the phone must mean he was coming back soon, and she doubted she'd need to contact him anyway: there had been no suspicious men lurking near her flat and she doubted she'd be much good to blackmail Jim with anyway. Blackmail with people on Jim could never work. She knew he'd let her die if he had to.

Molly wondered if their roles were reversed, if she'd do the same to him.

Possibly.

A bus tooted its horn loudly and she jerked back into real life. Molly checked the time and jumped- she had to get back to work.

She paid and left the café, her mind vaguely occupied with how she could be the first one to greet Jim on his return, over Sebastian. She almost laughed at her self for the possessiveness, but nevertheless it occupied her for the rest of the afternoon at work.

Molly got home a little late, fed her cat, and spent another evening alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

Firstly- sorry for the long absence of new stuff. Final exams coming up, yada-yada. Also, a few things. Firstly about the phone. This is set quite a few years before 'A Study in Pink' so touch screen phones aren't really a big thing yet. Molly's hardly a gadget girl, but I didn't want to give off an impression that she's super backward! Secondly- anyone get the obscure 'Doctor Who' reference? Thirdly- don't worry, this isn't going to be a Sebastian/Molly fic or a Jim/Sebastian fic, I just like Sebastian and Molly interacting, okay? They're funny together, both head over heels for Jim. Poor things.


End file.
